


Bruce and the White Lilies

by iamfitzwilliamdarcy



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen, St. Maria Goretti
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-28 22:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8465356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamfitzwilliamdarcy/pseuds/iamfitzwilliamdarcy
Summary: The lilies are there each year, on his grave.  Companion piece to Jason and the White Lily





	

The lilies are there—loose, whiteness stark against the green grass and dim, evening light. The gray tombstone. 

He lays his roses down next to the lilies. White for his parents, down the way, but red today. Red for Jason. 

He’s never really sure who leaves the lilies—some vague idea of Alfred or Dick, maybe even Barbara Gordorn. But they’re nice, comforting. Someone else out there had loved him too. Someone else would watch after him.

There’s a crunch on the leaves behind him, and he glances back though he knows already it’s Dick, stepping purposefully to alert him. He’s wearing a light jacket, shivering still in the late spring chill, but he smiles when he catches Bruce’s eye. Sad. Fond.

He comes and loops his arm through Bruce’s, like he used to when he was little, up too late at fancy parties, jealous of the women stealing Bruce’s attention away. Bruce lets him. He’s taller now, full-grown, but still nearly a head shorter than Bruce. He fits. 

(He’s missed Dick.)

(He misses Jason.)

He wishes it hadn’t taken this to get Dick back. Hates how long he spent thinking he was only allowed one or the other. Hates how much he resented Dick for not being there—and then for being there too late.

Hates that it took bringing in Tim to realize hearts had room for more than one person, that love didn’t get parceled out, it grew. 

Hates that he’s always too late.

Hates that he still dreams about Jason, bloodied and bruised and gone, gone, gone. 

(It’s his fault.) (It’s all his fault.)

(There are some things he’ll never forgive himself for.) 

“I like the lilies,” Dick says, bringing Bruce back to the present. “Not your usual, but nice.”

“You didn’t bring them?” Bruce asks. Not surprised. Not even really curious. Just asks.

Dick slides his gaze over at Bruce quickly, makes it seem like he’s still squinting at the grave. Says, “Nope.”

“Me neither.”

“Alfred?” Dick suggests. 

Bruce shrugs. “Probably.” 

They’re quiet again. The wind blows gently. 

“I’ll go out with Tim tonight,” Dick says. “Or we can take the night off. I’ll stay over. Have dinner. Make Alfred happy.”

Bruce nods. Dick squeezes his arm. He knows. 

Dick detaches himself, rests his hand on the grave for a minute, eyes closed. He crosses himself, right to left. He rarely does that these days. Then, stoops to pick a lily up. Hands it to Bruce and says, “I think we could find a vase for this guy.”

Bruce takes it. It’s almost like Jason reaching him, beyond Dick, past Dick. 

Bruce holds it gently. Holds it close.

He knows Alfred didn’t leave the lilies.

**Author's Note:**

> this has been in my head a while i'm not sure it came out right :/
> 
> (self-forgiveness is a huge piece of St. Maria Goretti's story too idk)


End file.
